Storms
by ILM
Summary: This isn’t them, this unconsidered abandon - at least, that's what she wants to tell herself.


Right, back to the one-shots whilst I wait for inspiration to hit so I can finish Past Futures.

This is my first attempt at M-rated fic, and now I know why everybody worries about it so much!

**Disclaimer: They aren't mine, and frankly, I'm starting to worry about what would happen to them if they were.**

* * *

This isn't them, this unconsidered abandon.

That's all she keeps thinking as she hears her own moans echoing through the humid air.

This isn't them.

They are worries and consequences and significance. They are over-thinking and hesitation and a catalogue of moments that makes this surreal.

They are not wildness and spontaneity and intuitive touches.

"Stop thinking," he mumbles against her neck, his lips as damp against her skin as his shirt under her hands.

Maybe it's the weather. Maybe there's something to what Angela said this morning, about the heat getting too much for all of them. Maybe constantly waiting for the threatening storm to break has set them all on edge.

But is this really how they deal with edginess now?

"I can't help it," she breathes, her fingers trailing down his back so lightly she feels him shiver.

"Yes, you can." His mouth slides over the soft skin behind her ear, making her sigh. "Stop thinking and just concentrate on feeling."

"You sound like a self-help book," she mutters, with a slight giggle that she can't quite believe is coming from her.

He makes a noise that sounds like a frustrated groan. "_Bones_."

"Okay, okay."

She takes a deep breath and tries to sink into what he's doing. It shouldn't be hard to, she reasons, as he certainly seems to know how to touch her. She's always found men to be a little rough, the pressure of their hands too firm.

"You're _still_ thinking!" he grumbles, and she realises he is now looking at her.

She smiles at him repentantly, sliding her hand under the back of his shirt, patterning her fingers over slightly clammy skin. They've been living in a cloud of invisible water for a fortnight now.

"I can't help it," she repeats, leaning up to press her mouth to the hollow of his throat. Her tongue reaches out briefly, the slight saltiness appealing in a way she never expected.

But then, she rationalises, it's Booth. He's always appealing in a way she never expected.

"It's not exactly a compliment," he gripes, pulling away slightly to stop her distracting him.

She laughs throatily, grabbing the back of his head and forcing him back down. "Is it a compliment," she whispers in his ear, "if I tell you I was thinking that you will probably make me come more quickly than anyone ever has?"

She pushes her tongue into his open mouth before he has a chance to react, sliding her legs apart so that he nestles between them. He is heavy and she likes that, the weight pressing down on her, knowing if she shifts even a little she will feel the push of his arousal against her.

He gasps as he pulls out of the kiss, dragging air into his lungs. "_Bones_," he despairs again. "You can't just say these things!"

"I can't?" she says, mockingly. "So now I can't think and I can't talk?"

"Well, no, I meant-"

"So maybe we should think about what I _can_ do," she murmurs, cutting him off as her tongue slips over his earlobe.

She can tell by his stifled grunt that he isn't sure where she's going with this and chuckles as she arches her back, deliberately pressing herself hard against him.

"Can I do that?" she breathes, as her body relaxes back against the floor.

There is a hesitation filled only by the sound of his increasingly laboured breathing. "Yes," he mutters, his face buried against her neck.

"Good," she continues, moving her hand up to where his rests by her shoulder.

At first he resists the wrap of her fingers around his, clearly not sure of her intent, but her insistence wins. She moves their joined hands slowly, moulding his fingers over her breast, knowing he can feel her nipple pressed against his palm.

"How about this?"

This time there is no pause.

"Yes…"

She can't stop the whimper that escapes her as he squeezes, not quite firmly enough this time.

"Harder," she urges breathlessly, holding his large fingers against her in encouragement, moaning loudly as he does as he's told. She knew when she started this that he would want to please her. They've never talked about it – of course they haven't, his face would burn at even the prospect – but she suspects he's secure enough to realise that no man knows a woman automatically.

She leaves his hand on her, trusting him not to stop, as she watches her own hand run down his chest, tugging at the material to free it completely. It seems wrong to be so objectively interested in her own actions, but this is still surreal, still clouded by suddenness and novelty and the imprint of clandestine desire.

This isn't them, this forwards momentum into newness.

"This isn't us," she whispers, her lips brushing the juncture of shoulder and neck, her words at odds with her travelling hand.

"It is now," he responds softly, without hesitation.

He hovers over her slightly, moving his hand to guide hers as he supports himself on the other arm. That same feeling of disembodiment comes over her as she watches him slip her hand under the material of his shirt, feeling her thighs clench around his hips involuntarily as her fingers creep over his stomach. The muscles she can no longer deny she has wanted to touch contract under her hand and it's like he's switched gear as he yanks his shirt over his head.

He's breathing hard, damp firmness under her hands. And he's hers, she realises with a thrill. Possession has never enthralled her before but now it is vital, so necessary to the exhilaration of this ride he's directing that she isn't sure why she's never felt it before.

"Are you thinking again?" he mutters accusingly, tugging violently at her top, sighing in frustration as the material clings to her sticky skin.

"No," she lies, distracting him by wriggling out of her top herself, hearing the catch in his breath as she stretches to throw it aside.

She reaches for the button on her jeans but he is too quick for her.

"Damn it, woman, let me do it," he growls at her, pinning her hand down by her side.

"It's quicker if I do it," she protests, her body howling at her for the delay.

He chuckles darkly, lowering his whole body onto hers, his fingers pushing into her hair. She knows he is consciously slowing her down and it infuriates her even as she reluctantly concedes that this take-control Booth turns her on even more than the warm-and-fuzzy Booth who knows her inside-out now.

"Speed really isn't of the essence," he teases her, firmly thrusting the hard, hot bulge between his legs against her, revelling in the unrestrained moan that breaks from her lips.

"I don't care how fast you go if you keep doing that," she pants, desperately propelling her hips against him again, complaining under her breath as he holds himself just too far above her.

Instead she snakes her hand between then, squeezing him hard through his jeans, taking her turn to delight in the strangled groan that envelopes her.

"Revenge is sweet," she points out with a wink, unsurprised when he shifts speed again to fumble frantically with her zipper.

And then her body tenses violently as his hand pushes between her legs, cupping her – and she knows she is so, so wet, but how can she be embarrassed when she can feel he wants her just as badly? His breathing is erratic and his fingers equally so, shuddering along the crease of her thigh. He tries to use his free hand to coax her jeans further down, but his co-ordination is no match for the attraction between material and skin.

"Changed your mind about me doing it yet?" she breathes restlessly, not waiting for an answer before shoving the reluctant denim down her legs, prising herself free using her feet.

"Definitely," he agrees, kissing her hard once more, his tongue ruthlessly demanding against hers, his hand growing more and more confident between her legs.

"Any chance of you returning the favour?" she gasps between kisses, pushing ineffectually at his waistband.

With reluctance he prises his hand from his new plaything, fighting with his own clothes in his haste to remove them. She doesn't realise his plan until he grabs her hand, pulling her to her feet before stealing another unexpected kiss from her far from protesting mouth.

"Why are we standing up?" she mumbles against his lips, not giving him a chance to reply before once more entwining her tongue with his.

"Carpet burn," he elaborates briefly, tugging her along behind him.

She laughs unreservedly as she forces the legs that threaten to betray his effect on her down the corridor. By the doorway, she gathers her strength and pushes him against the wall, pressing herself against him from thigh to shoulder.

"I hope you're having problems walking," she purrs into his ear

It takes only a second for their positions to be reversed, but she has no regret as he squeezes her between the wall and his hips. She is briefly surprised by the sound that comes from her own lips, that unique mixture of pleasure and frustrated tension.

"Not as many as you'll have later," he promises, his voice low.

"Promises, promises," she teases, her legs wobbling as his fingers fumble with the catch of her bra and his lips travel over her throat.

It takes only seconds for her to get exasperated with his ineptitude.

"Stop trying to multi-task," she chastises him, expertly unhooking and discarding the offending article.

There is no response because his mouth is already on her breast. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, his swirling tongue sensitising every spot, leave her only able to emit breathless moans as her fingers glide through his hair, holding his head to her.

His mouth is expert against her skin and she wonders briefly how many other women have known his touch. Jealousy is new to her, but now it rushes headlong behind possession, the two emotions startling her with their intensity.

"It's not a one-off, is it?" she pants, resisting the urge to force his mouth to her nipple.

He is pressed against her again, curves against strength, his hands unceasing in their movement across her body.

"You don't need to ask that question," he breathes in her ear, his hands sliding up between them to cup her breasts. "Don't pretend you don't know what I want."

"It scares me," she admits, wondering when she became this honest. Is this what happens when he turns her on? Does she really lose her emotional reticence?

"I know," he murmurs, soothingly, fingers trickling over the outside curve of her breasts, "but really, what will change? Don't think of it as changing, just progressing."

"This is change," she reminds him.

She arches into his touch, knowing that this time she doesn't need to tell him what she wants. She sees the smugness in his eyes, but somehow that doesn't matter. What does she care if he knows what he's doing to her as long as he keeps touching her?

"Don't pretend you haven't thought about it," he counters, and she knows he is deliberately frustrating her now, as his hands slide back under her breasts.

"Booth…"

"Because I know you have," he carries on, ignoring her interruption. "Just like I have. And I know we're already together, all we don't have is this. And it's a bit late to tell me you don't want this to happen, because," he finally flicks his thumbs over her aching nipples, his eyes darkening as her heads falls back and she moans appreciatively, "I can tell how much you do."

"So do you," she retorts, unable to tell if her face is flushed from arousal or embarrassment.

He laughs, pressing his hips to hers, his breath hitching. "I'm not about to tell you otherwise," he says, in the seconds before his tongue touches her nipple.

It isn't breathing any more, she realises, listening to herself. No, it's panting, and soon it will be gasping, as he pushes her to an orgasm she so desperately needs now. She's so sure he can make her come, and it occurs to her that maybe that's why others haven't always been able to. Maybe it's her own desire for him that will make this so much easier.

"Then show me," she whispers in his ear, breaking free of his grasp to tug him towards her bedroom.

She stays with her back to him as she discards her remaining underwear, smiling as she hears his groan. The sudden press of his body against her back startles her, his arms winding around her, pulling her tightly against him.

"I've got every intention of showing you," he assures her, his hands splayed across her quivering belly.

One hand moves up to gently squeeze her nipple as the fingers of the other trace the curve of her hip. She knows it's a whimper that escapes her, but that doesn't stop the second as he squeezes harder.

"Is that it?" he murmurs, tugging getting. "Is that how you like it?"

"Yes," she breathes, her head falling back onto his shoulder as she gives herself over to his ministrations.

"I always knew you wouldn't be fragile," he laughs quietly in her ear.

"Mrmph," is what she thinks she says, past caring that her back is arched so much it hurts.

"Mmm, so coherent," he mocks her, twisting the swollen flesh slightly.

"Shut up," she grinds out. "I'll get my own back."

"I've no doubt," he chuckles.

His hand moves across from her hip to press lightly between her legs, making her bite her lip. "Open your legs," he coaxes gently.

Her body doesn't seem to want to obey her any more, but she manages to force one foot to move sideways. The change shifts her against him and she gasps as she feels his erection push between her open thighs.

"Why aren't you naked?" she mutters, pressing herself backwards and refusing to give in to the urge to rub herself against him.

"Because if I was we'd be a lot further on by now," he replies, a hint of a smile behind his words.

"Like that would be a problem," she grumbles good-naturedly.

She feels him break away from her and hears the swish of material being yanked down legs. It's barely seconds before he's back against her and this time she feels hot, smooth, engorged flesh between her thighs, tantalisingly close to where she wants him. Her moan is loud and she doesn't care, the throbbing between her legs now commanding her complete attention.

His hand pushes between her thighs, his groan thick with anticipation. He doesn't wait or ask permission, simply thrusts one finger deep inside her, making her cry out as her body crumples, simultaneously tensing and melting. She can hear him muttering curses, but everything is through the fog in her head that is begging him not to stop.

A second finger joins the first, and now she can hear herself clearly as her moans become cries. She wonders if she'll scream. It's been a long time since somebody made her scream.

"If I keep doing this," he gasps next to her ear, "what happens?"

She can't believe he's asking. "If you don't know…"

"Oh, I do know. I just want you to tell me."

She tries to turn in his arms, but he's too strong for her and all that happens is the twist of his fingers inside her, making her legs buckle once more.

"What do you want me to tell you? If you keep doing that, I'll come? Is that it?" she exclaims.

"Yes," he growls, his fingers moving steadily inside her. "I want you to remember this, how it feels when I make you come."

His thumb slithers against her to press firmly against her clit and she almost sobs with the pleasure that shoots through her.

"You're nearly there, aren't you?" he breathes raggedly, thrusting his erection harder against her.

"Yes," she manages to get out, rocking her hips frantically, clenching around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers from her abruptly and she can't stop herself grunting in surprise. His hands are firm as he pushes her down on the bed, parting her legs almost unceremoniously. She's not sure what she expected – she always suspected he was cocky for a reason – but she can't stop staring at his erection, thick and heavy. Her tongue rasps over her suddenly dry lips and she notices how his eyes narrow.

"You can't stop now," she reminds him, tugging him down after her with one hand as her other reaches to wrap around him.

He tenses and groans as she starts to stroke him. Long, slow strokes, her thumb swiping around the tip every time she passes.

"I've got no intention of stopping now," he pants heavily, moving to kneel between her spread thighs.

She meets his eyes openly, wondering why she can feel the sheen of tears in hers. "I'd only do the job myself if you did," she taunts him, her words at odds with her expression.

He leans over her, his large body looming in a way she suddenly finds arousing and not at all threatening.

"I hardly think there's a need for that," he murmurs, pushing the tip of his erection just inside her.

She hopes that wasn't a squeal passing her lips. He'll never let her forget it if it was.

"Be patient," he grinds out, thrusting a little further in.

"I've been patient for years," she shoots back, "so now you can stop withholding."

His thrust is powerful, causing her body to jerk up off the bed and a voluble, heartfelt cry to escape her.

"Still think I'm withholding?" he gasps, moving only slightly as she starts to squirm beneath him.

"No… No…," she gabbles, propelling her hips up towards him, gripping his arms.

He merely grunts in response as he gives in and starts to thrust steadily. Almost immediately, she feels herself starting to ascend towards the pinnacle he rudely interrupted her in reaching earlier. She slides her arms around him, wanting to feel the slip of hot skin; his muscles ripple under her hands and she knows she is digging her nails in but suddenly she wants to mark him. He won't forget this either.

"_Fuck_," he grunts, his hips pistoning now as she feels him jerk erratically inside her.

Her response is long, low cry as her body starts to tremble. He hesitates for just a second, shifting as he goes to push his hand between them; she catches his fingers and presses them to her mouth.

"No," she breathes, every word catching on a moan. "I'm almost there."

"You sure?" he pants, his face flushed as he tries to maintain his rhythm.

"_Yes_," she gasps, her words swallowed up as her body spasms, shivering through the waves.

It's not quite a scream, but that's only because she doesn't have the breath left in her.

She can feel his struggle to hold out, to allow her the pleasure without thinking of him, but she knows he can't wait longer from the quiver of his arms in the seconds before his release. She's not sure what to make of the warm glow that spreads through her as his body collapses onto her, the sound of his breathing subsiding in her ear.

"I'll move in a sec," he mumbles.

She laughs. "Doesn't matter," she soothes, stroking his back, feeling the air around them cooling.

This isn't them, she thinks, this unexpected easiness.

They should be awkwardness and blushes, incoherence and escape.

Maybe she's always been wrong about them.

They lie together quietly, hands roaming, until he rolls off her only a few minutes later. She misses the weight of him, suddenly cold.

She reaches for the covers they discarded in their haste, but he is already there, smoothing them up over her body, tucking her in against him with one strong arm.

"It's raining," she tells him, yawning, feeling her eyes start to droop.

"About time," he says, stroking her hair back off her face, his eyes shining. "That weather was causing chaos."

* * *

**As usual, apologies for the odd British-ism - I've given up trying to moderate my way of writing!**

**Right, you know me - I never demand reviews, and I still won't. However, I'd really appreciate it if you did, even if just to say "Noooo, please never set foot in the M section again!"**

**Off in search of my multi-chapter inspiration. If anybody has it, could they send it back...?**


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